


S’Mitten

by khalulu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Femslash, Boys Kissing, Community: hd_erised, Dragons, Eventual Romance, Fishing, Getting Together, H/D Erised 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holidays, Knitting, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Octopi & Squid, Party, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Russian Mythology, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-12 06:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalulu/pseuds/khalulu
Summary: Harry and Draco aren’t enemies any more, but it seems their history will always stand between them – so let’s try some other histories on for size! The fickle finger of fate is muffled in one of Mrs Weasley’s mittens. Did I mention kisses?





	S’Mitten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassie_black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/gifts).



> Dear cassieblack, I tried to knit your requests together into something warm, though small. Apologies for any lumpy places, dropped stitches or unraveling. Many many thanks to the extremely gracious mods and to my speedy beta S.
> 
> Boiled mittens and tales of the Kraken are shared parts of the traditions of North Atlantic fishing communities. Zmey Gorynych was a famous dragon in Russia. Troikas sound complicated to drive and fun to ride in!

Draco edged through the crowd at Luna and Millicent’s going-away party, looking for a place to sit. He spied an empty sofa. Granger occupied a chair on the far side of it, but he could take the near end. He was just about to sink into the cushions and rest his feet when Weasley appeared and flung himself down onto the sofa at the end nearest Granger. Of course. 

Draco sighed. He turned to look for another place to sit and found Harry Potter standing next to him, looking between him and the two empty spots on the sofa. 

“It’s fine, I’m going,” Draco said.

“You can sit,” Potter said. “There’s room.”

It would have been awkward to refuse. But it was at least as awkward to sit there next to Potter with nothing to say, while Weasley and Granger were absorbed in talking something over.

Potter was no help, sitting and fidgeting and swirling his drink around in the glass.

“So, do you think they’ll find this Flibberty Humdinger?” Draco finally said.

“Blibbering,” Potter said absently. “If not, it won’t be for lack of trying. If anyone can find a probably-non-existent beast, it would be Luna.”

“With help from Millicent,” Draco said. House loyalty died hard.

“Yeah, that’s a bit surprising,” said Potter. “She doesn’t seem like the fanciful type.”

“No, she’s very practical. She’ll have made sure they packed everything they need for the expedition. And she’s good with animals.” 

It occurred to Draco that both Millicent and Luna might have found animals kinder than people. 

“Oh yeah, she had a cat, didn’t she?” Potter said. 

“What do you know about Millicent Bulstrode’s cat?” Draco said.

For some reason Potter was laughing a little, which caught Weasley’s attention, and now he joined in. “Black, with yellow eyes, right? Kind of long-haired, wasn’t it, Hermione?” 

“How would you know that?” Draco demanded. “Sir Fluffengrumple never left the Slytherin dormitory.”

“Sir _what_?” Potter spluttered.

Weasley was laughing hard. Granger looked daggers at him. “Ron…”

“Ah, come on, Hermione,” Weasley wheezed. “Don’t… be a… Fluffengrumple!” 

Granger looked to be trying to stay angry, but suddenly she collapsed into giggles too. It was all very suspicious.

“You are all evading the question,” said Draco.

Potter looked at him, amused. “Don’t be a Fluffengrumple, Malfoy.” His eyes were warm and his smile was relaxed and it was altogether a charming expression such as had not been directed Draco’s way before. 

_Fluffy-rumpled_. Draco squelched an inexplicable impulse to ruffle Potter’s ever-messy hair. He couldn’t help the little smile that pulled at his lips. “Someone has clearly been spiking the Gryffindors’ punch with something stronger than I got,” he said. “No fair.”

Potter just smiled lazily at him, sunk back in the sofa cushions, his legs sprawled out so one nudged against Draco’s. A little spot of warmth from Potter’s leg. A little current of warmth from Potter’s eyes. A little warmth rising in Draco’s cheeks. 

Someone must have spiked Draco’s punch too.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

Another party. Another forced-proximity, slightly awkward conversation with Potter. At least now Draco had a reason to call Pansy over. (She always insisted that he “mingle” first.)

He signaled to her across the room and she glided over. 

“News?” she said.

“Apparently Weasley plays chess.”

“Is he any good?”

Draco shrugged. “Potter here seems to think so.”

Pansy looked skeptical. 

“Not just me,” Potter said. “Dumbledore said Ron played the best game of chess at Hogwarts for years.”

“Oh yes,” Pansy said. “In one of those end-of-the-year feast, let’s-take-the-house-cup-away-from-Slytherin-again speeches.”

Potter bristled.

Draco sighed. “Yes, but let’s not re-fight that war. The point is….”

“Who was Weasley playing against?” Pansy cut in.

“Er…” Potter didn’t seem very sure. “Professor McGonagall, I guess.”

“Hm,” said Pansy. “In that case….” She raised her voice. “Weasley, what are you doing Tuesday night?”

Weasley stared at her. “I have a girlfriend, Parkinson.”

“So do I, and that wasn’t the question. Let me rephrase. I’m looking for someone new to beat at chess, Weasley, and your name has come up.”

“I can’t help you there, Parkinson.” Ron stretched and grinned. “But if you need someone new to beat _you_ at chess, I’m your man.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Pansy said. “But you’re on.” She turned to Draco. “Set something up for me, there’s a dear.”

“What?” Draco said. “Why me?”

“Cho’s waiting for me.” She turned to Ron again. “And if you feel the need to protect your virtue, you can always bring a chaperone.”

“Hermione’s going out of town,” Ron said, as if realising a problem with the plan.

“Bring Potter. Though…” She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “If I’m to be ganged up on by Gryffindors, I’ll need another Slytherin along for support. Draco, you come too.”

Draco slanted a suspicious look at her and she smiled brilliantly back, then turned and walked off, calling over her shoulder. “Owl me the details.”

Draco sighed and turned to Potter. “Tuesday, then? Where’s a good place?”

“Why do I feel like we’re the seconds in a duel?” Potter said. “What just happened?”

Draco shrugged again. “Pansy happened. So, Weasley—Tuesday at half past seven?”

❄ ❄ ❄ 

It was mildly gratifying to see Weasley’s face change as he realised that Pansy really was a formidable player. Unfortunately, though, Draco himself had no interest in chess, and it seemed likely to be a long game. Potter was tapping his fingers restlessly.

“This is slightly more entertaining than watching paint dry,” Draco said. “You don’t seem in any danger, Pansy. Perhaps I could wander on home now?”

“It’s good for you to get out, Draco,” Pansy said.

“You call this getting out?”

Potter had gone to look out a window. “It’s snowing,” Potter announced. “Big thick flakes, and it’s sticking.”

“Why don’t you boys go for a walk then? And stop distracting me while I’m working out how to beat Weasley?”

“Yeah, go pummel Malfoy with some snowballs for me, Harry,” said Weasley.

Draco looked out. The first snowfall of the winter—it was tempting. ”I didn’t think to bring gloves, though,” he said.

“I think I’ve got an extra pair of mittens,” Potter said, slinging on his winter cloak and digging around in the pockets. He pulled out one pair of garish red and gold mittens with his initials on them, and another pair in an intricate multi-coloured pattern, which he handed to Draco. “Those are new, never been worn, should be all right for you.”

They were handsome, for mittens, Draco had to admit. “Thanks,” he said, pulling on his cloak and following Potter out the door. “But who carries around two pairs of mittens?”

Potter laughed. “Molly Weasley makes them with the yarn left over from her Christmas jumpers, so I have plenty. I must have tucked a pair in my cloak pocket last winter and forgot them, grabbed another pair when I left tonight.” 

It wasn’t completely dark outside; the moon was full, somewhere behind the snow clouds. The night was peaceful, with the snow drifting gently down, muffling the sounds of their steps. But Potter was bending down to scoop some up into a ball. “Good packing snow,” he said, turning with a mischievous smile.

Clearly a snowball fight was imminent. Draco pulled on the mittens.

And felt wind and sunlight on his face. The bells on the sleigh rang sweetly in the frosty morning air. The horses— _horses?_ —tossed their heads as they galloped along. 

At least, the two dapple-greys on the outside were galloping. The horse in the center seemed to be trotting. Holding the reins for all three of them, Draco had his hands full. But somehow he knew what to do, and the troika sleigh flew merrily over the snow in a landscape he’d never seen. 

“There, near the mountain! See the smoke?”

Draco turned to the speaker. Harry Potter was in the sleigh with him, wearing a fur-trimmed cloak, high boots, and – armour?

Draco looked where Potter was pointing. Sure enough, there was a mountain and a small cloud of smoke. A faint roaring sound was becoming louder, and beneath the smoke he saw a speck that grew rapidly larger as it approached. 

And revealed itself to be a dragon, a large green one with fiery batwings and three heads no less.

“Stop the horses,” Potter said, and Draco slowed them to a halt. The acrid stink of dragon smoke was getting stronger, and the horses rolled their eyes and pranced nervously in place. Draco spoke soothingly to calm them. He risked gathering all the reins in one hand so that he could reach his wand.

Potter, squaring his shoulders and tossing his head back, hissed at the dragon in Parseltongue. Draco barely had time to cast a protective shield before the dragon spat flame at them and hissed back. Somehow Draco understood the conversation.

Potter was demanding the dragon stop burning, pillaging, kidnapping and eating people. 

The dragon scoffed. “I am the son of the great Zmey Gorynych, Fire-Snake of the Mountain! Tremble before me!”

“I don’t really care who your parents are,” Potter said. 

“And why should you care who I eat? Go away now, or I’ll make a snack of you.” 

“You could try,” Potter said, “if you promise not to harm anyone else.”

“Ha ha! The hero wants to bargain. It’s true that hero’s blood is especially tasty. Very well, I promise not to harm anyone else. And then,” it smirked, “the dragon claims the hero.” 

“Which dragon?” Draco asked. It seemed he could speak Parseltongue too.

“Ha ha! Puny human makes joke. Very funny. The nearest dragon, ha ha!”

“Very well,” Potter said grimly, with his typical foolhardy self-sacrifice. 

Draco had a better idea. He swept Harry Potter into a scorching kiss. “Mine,” he told the dragon, “claimed by Draco, dragon of stars.” 

And he swept his cloak around Potter’s shoulders. On its midnight blue background, the constellation he was named for gleamed silver.

The dragon roared in frustration and flew away. Draco’s blood thundered triumphantly in his ears.

Harry Potter gazed at Draco, open-mouthed. “Yours, am I? Your what, exactly?”

Of course this couldn’t be so easy. “Partner?” Draco hazarded. “In dragon-tricking?”

“And just what does this partnership involve?”

“That could be negotiated,” Draco said.

“Hmm.” Harry’s eyes searched Draco’s face. Then they dropped to his lips. “Do you think we could, uh, negotiate another kiss?”

“Oh yes,” Draco murmured, “I’m sure we could reach an agreement on that.”

But before they could fully explore this pleasant pastime the horses began to get restive. It was, in any case, not wholly satisfactory to kiss a man in armour. So Draco prepared to begin driving again.

“Do you think the dragon will keep his word to leave other people alone, now that he didn’t get to eat me?” Harry said.

“Of course not,” said Draco. “But he’d never have kept it in any case.”

“So I’ll have to go after him again. And you? Will you stay as my partner?”

“If you like,” Draco said with a sidelong smile.

“I like,” said Harry, grinning back. 

Draco clucked to the horses and flicked the reins, and they began to run. The bells on the troika and harnesses sang out a melody to the cadence of the horses’ galloping hooves. Sunlight sparkled on the snowy fields. Joy lightened his heart.

And then a snowball sailed out of the darkness and splattered on his cloak. 

Draco blinked. Snow was falling quietly in the night. Behind a lighted window, Pansy was playing chess with Ron Weasley. In front of him, Harry Potter - not in armor - paused with another snowball in hand. 

Shaken, Draco stood perfectly still, hoping time would settle around him, settle him in place.

“Malfoy? Are you all right?” Potter dropped the snowball and approached. “Sorry, I thought you wouldn’t mind…”

Draco shook his head slightly. “It isn’t that. Just, uh, my thoughts went elsewhere.”

“Head in the clouds, eh.”

“Actually it was sunny there,” Draco couldn’t help saying.

Potter’s expression changed as he realised Draco was serious. He looked searchingly at Draco, and Draco couldn’t muster up his usual cool protective shell. He had been kissing this man, _kissing_ him in the sunlight, just moments earlier, and now here they were in the dark, and that memory was his alone.

“The war taught us that, I think,” Potter said slowly. “How to go away, to somewhere bearable, at least for a moment.”

That wasn’t what this was about, but Harry Potter was looking at him with compassion and Draco wasn’t about to contradict him. Snowflakes were caught in Potter’s messy curls and Draco yearned to brush them out. Something of that helpless loss must have shown on his face.

“And then sometimes you’re here and fine,” Harry said, his mouth twisting, “and the war comes and snatches you back.” 

And now Draco ached with both compassion and desire, and it was all too much.

“Yeah,” he said raggedly. “But we’re both here now. So how about that snowball fight?” And he scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it on Potter’s head, just so he could touch that hair, even with mittens on. 

Potter yelped as some snow went down his collar, then stooped to arm himself, swearing revenge. Draco backed away, running and laughing. Soon the snowballs were flying and Draco was full of that exhilaration unique to going one on one with Harry Potter.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

Draco stopped by Quality Quidditch Supplies to pick up a twig repair kit. The shopkeeper was just disappearing into the back to get something for the customer ahead of him—a sturdy-looking wizard with a broad freckled face and Weasley-bright hair. Draco occupied himself in gazing at the now-vintage Firebolt on display. How he’d envied Potter that broom, eons ago.

“I’d have loved a broom like that back when I was a Seeker,” the surely-a-Weasley said, echoing Draco’s thoughts. “I need something sturdier now, though. When you’re dealing with dragons, ‘fire-bolt’ takes on a whole new meaning.”

“Dragons?” Draco said.

“Yeah, I work at a dragon reserve in Romania. It’s a great place, but there’s no broom shop in Romania with a selection like this one has. It’s always a treat to stop by here when I’m in town.”

A serendipitous source of information, perhaps. “Have you, by any chance, heard of a dragon called Zmey Goryn… Zmey Gorny….” 

“Zmey Gorynych? Sure. Most famous of the Russian dragons. Mean, green, and many-headed.”

Maybe Draco wasn’t completely mad after all. “And did this Zmey have children?” he asked. 

“Loads of them.” 

Just then the shopkeeper reappeared with the merchandise. As the other wizard was paying for his purchases, a familiar voice behind Draco called out, “Hello Charlie! Ready to go and get some lunch?”

“Hello Harry, sure! I was just talking Quidditch and Russian dragons with… sorry, I didn’t get your name? I’m Charlie Weasley, by the way.” 

“Draco,” Draco said, and saw the man’s eyes crinkle with an easy smile. “Draco Malfoy,” he added somewhat reluctantly. 

Charlie Weasley’s smile paused when he heard the name. His eyes searched Draco’s, but finally he nodded and held out his hand. “Always good to meet another dragon aficionado.”

Draco found himself shaking hands.

“Russian dragons?” Potter asked, giving the two of them a keen, puzzled look.

“Yes, do you—” _remember_ “—know much about them?” Draco asked. It was back, that longing for connection with Potter, for acknowledgement.

Potter shook his head. “Not a thing.”

Draco swallowed, hit with something like grief. Apparently he didn’t hide it well enough, because Potter looked at him with a hint of concern.

Charlie Weasley glanced between the two of them thoughtfully and then invited Draco to join them for lunch. 

He wanted to so much that he froze and excused himself, thanking them but waving his twig repair kit vaguely, as if fixing up his broom was too urgent to put off. 

They nodded and said goodbye, strolling out together, shoulders bumping easily against each other, and Draco wondered if there would always be a head of flame-red hair taking the spot next to Harry’s wild black curls.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

After a fine Sunday dinner at the Burrow, Harry was keeping Mrs Weasley company while Ron, George and Mr Weasley took clean-up duty. Mrs Weasley pulled out knitting needles, yarn and an enormous partly-finished plain white mitten. Ron, sticking his head out of the kitchen, stared.

“Are you making mittens for Hagrid’s brother Grawp, Mum? Because no one but a giant needs a mitten that’s a foot long.”

“No, just trying out something new. I’m making boiled mittens.”

Ron looked horrified. “No need to go looking for new recipes, Mum, we love your cooking just the way it is!”

“Good, because I’d better not find you eating these.” She turned to Harry as Ron, relieved, returned to his kitchen duties. “They’re fishermen’s mittens. You boil them and stamp on them until they shrink up all thick and felted. Then if you dip them in hot water and put them on, they’re supposed to keep your hands warm as long as you keep them wet.”

“Huh,” said Harry, not sure how that would work. 

“It’s nice to get some variety after knitting jumpers all these years. How are the Russian mittens working out?”

“Russian?”

“The ones with all the colours, that I gave you last year. The design is from Russia.” 

“Oh—I lent them to Draco Malfoy.”

“Did you?” Mrs Weasley shot him a look before returning to her needles. “And how is he?” 

Harry opened his mouth to answer and found he wasn’t sure what to say. Indeed, how was Malfoy? The last time Harry had seen him, just before the fierce fun of the snowball fight, there had been that odd moment when Malfoy seemed to have gone somewhere else but left his body behind. He’d looked so shaken afterwards. 

Malfoy had come out of the war subdued, with a remorse and an abhorrence of Dark magic that Harry believed were genuine. For a while Draco had mostly kept to himself, but his friends had stuck by him. Gradually their generation had begun mending rifts and making friendships across old divides, and Harry would find himself at gatherings where Malfoy was too. He’d seen flashes of humour and intelligence and thoughtfulness that made him wonder if they might have become friends, if they’d met in another time and place. But with so much fraught history between them—he didn’t see how they could get past it.

“I’ll give you this pair of mittens when they’re finished, then, since you don’t have the others,” Mrs Weasley said, breaking in on Harry’s thoughts. “Should I knit in the same charm that I put on the Russian ones?”

Harry had vague memories of her mentioning a spell last year. His impression was that it kept the mittens together so you didn’t lose one. “Sure,” he said, and thanked her.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

One afternoon a few weeks later, Harry strolled down Diagon Alley. The air was nippy, so he felt in his pocket for mittens and found the new white ones, now boiled down to size. He laughed a little, remembering the instruction to dip them in hot water before wearing. What was he supposed to do, order a cup of tea and pour it over his mittens? Shaking his head with a smile, he pulled them on.

Salt spray hit his glasses and the small boat rocked under them as Draco Malfoy, wet, wind-whipped and pink-cheeked, poured a netful of live fish over Harry’s feet. The fish flopped around, filling the bottom of the little dory.

Malfoy looked elated. “I thought you were daft to want to fish so close to the Kraken’s waters, Harry, but it’s true, the fish are shoaling here—look at them all!” He shot a jubilant smile at Harry, who wondered dumbly what reality he’d been dropped into. And what a kraken was.

He looked around. Choppy waves, land some distance away, and was that an iceberg? And then below the water he saw an enormous pair of eyes, the size of dinner plates, gazing at him from a conical head. A cluster of long arms trailed in the water, covered with serrated suckers like toothy little teacups.

“What’s the Giant Squid doing way out here?” Harry asked. Though he might just as well ask what he and Malfoy were doing out here. Wherever here was.

Malfoy followed his eyes. “The Kraken!” he shouted in alarm, reaching for his wand. Just as he raised it, a whip-like tentacle broke the water’s surface and plucked the wand away. 

Malfoy cursed and flung himself at the oars, rowing furiously. “Come on Harry, cast or row!”

“But it’s just the Squi…” Harry’s words were cut off as another tentacle wrapped around his arms and waist and began dragging him out of the boat. Malfoy dove toward him and grabbed Harry around the legs. The tentacle was sharp and painful where it dug into Harry’s sides and the smell of ammonia burned his lungs. The giant creature snapped its wicked-looking beak, far too close for comfort.

Draco was trying to hold onto Harry, brace himself in a boatful of slippery fish, and thwack at the Kraken with an oar. “Let _go_ of him, you great—squishy—brute,” he yelled. “Harry! Where’s your wand?”

Harry didn’t know, so he used a wandless Jelly-Fingers curse to break the Kraken’s grip. It worked too well, as Draco lost his hold too, but Harry managed to clamber back into the boat and grab him around the waist. As the Kraken began to knock against the boat, Harry put all his determination and deliberation into a destination he couldn’t picture, but felt with all the force of his heart: “Home.”

His Side-Along Apparition landed them in a neat little cottage with a view of ocean and in the background the restless sound of surf. 

“You’re bleeding,” Draco said. “Sit on the bed, I want to clean those scrapes on your side. Who knows what kind of venom that thing might have. Damn, my wand is gone—heat the kettle for me, would you? And cancel that curse so I can use my hands again?” 

Harry shucked off his mittens (wet but warm), felt around, wincing, and found his wand inside his jacket. It looked different from the wand he was used to, but it felt right and worked fine. He sat on the one large bed.

Draco brought him a cup of tea and then sat next to him with a damp cloth and a little pot of salve. “Your clothes are all wet anyway, might as well take them off,” he said matter-of-factly, starting to lift the hem of Harry’s jumper. Harry squawked. 

“Fine, then, lift your shirt,” Draco said, and began dabbing gently at the cuts left by the tentacle barbs. Harry couldn’t help a hiss of pain. Draco murmured something absently in a low soothing voice and started to smooth the salve over the cuts. It felt cool and had a pleasant herbal smell. He bandaged the cuts deftly.

“I’m soaked too.” Draco stood and grasped the hem of his own jumper and tugged it over his head, shaking drops of water out of his blond hair as he emerged. Harry stared at the pale chest and then flushed and looked away as Draco took off his boots and started pulling down his trousers. 

“What, is my brave boyfriend getting bashful?” Draco sounded amused. “We might as well warm up in bed. Can’t go out fishing again until the good ship _Drarry_ finds her way back, but you know she’ll turn up again in the morning. Good thing I renewed the fish preservation charms.” He hung his wet clothes on a chair and slipped into the other side of the bed.

Harry slowly took off his shoes and got under the covers, still in his clothes. 

Draco reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear. “Are you really all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry returned. He felt, in fact, profoundly right, cared for, here with this man. He let his fingers drift down the side of Draco’s face. “Are you?”

Draco’s face changed. “I could have lost you,” he whispered.

“Not the way you were holding on,” Harry tried to joke.

“I could have _lost_ you,” Draco repeated, his eyes pressed shut.

“I’m here,” Harry said. He gathered Draco in his arms.

Draco’s arms came around him. “You’re wet,” he grumbled.

Harry laughed a little. “But I’m here.” And as he kissed his unexpected lover, a sweet bolt of desire shot through him. “Here with you,” he said huskily, between kisses. “Here.”

And then Harry was standing on Diagon Alley, alone in a jostling crowd of strangers. Aroused, confused, bereft. 

Someone bumped into him from behind. Harry turned. Draco Malfoy was directly in back of him. 

“You’re here,” Harry said.

“Yes, because you stopped dead in the middle of the street, Potter. So I’m here, because I can’t go forward, because you’re there. Blocking my way.”

“Are you all right?”

“I didn’t bump into you that hard.”

“But the Kraken. Are you really all right? And did you get your wand back?”

Draco frowned. “It’s right here. What’s a Kraken?”

“You tell me,” Harry said helplessly.

Draco’s face changed as he studied Harry. Slowly, wonderingly, Draco asked, “What do you know about Russian dragons?”

Harry shook his head. Of its own volition, his hand moved to stroke Draco’s cheek, but he caught himself and stopped. 

Draco looked at his outstretched, mittened hand. “Where have you been, Harry Potter?” he said softly.

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered.

Draco searched his face once more and then held out his own hand in its bright Russian-patterned mitten. “Come. Let’s walk,” he said.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

That first afternoon, they left Diagon Alley for somewhere quieter and ended up walking through a park in Muggle London. There was a comfort in holding hands, but it still wasn’t easy to explain what had happened.

“There was a boat,” Harry said finally.

“A boat?”

“And you were on it too.”

“We were sailing? Any tropical sunsets?”

“No, we were fishing in some cold sea. You dumped a load of fish on my feet.”

Draco laughed. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“You’re probably not, actually.”

Draco gave him an inquiring look but didn’t press him. After a while he said, “It was a sleigh where I went.”

“No fish, then, that’s good.”

“If you’re a fisherman you’re supposed to be happy about the fish, aren’t you Potter? But no, no fish. There were three horses pulling the sleigh and I was driving them. Rather expertly, if I say so myself.”

Harry snorted. Draco smiled. Harry swung their hands a little. “And was I there?”

“You were muttering in Parseltongue, driving brave bad bargains.”

“With a Russian dragon?”

Draco nodded.

“How did I get out of them?”

“Sometimes it takes a dragon to outwit a dragon.”

Harry turned to look at him. Draco was wearing a new cloak, midnight blue with the dragon constellation outlined in silver thread and sparkly stars.

“So I should thank you.”

Draco smiled again and looked down at his feet. His cheeks were pink. “It can wait a little.”

They kept walking.

“The part with the Kraken—it’s like the Giant Squid, only meaner—that part was scary, but the parts with you were, er, good,” Harry said. “Where I was.”

Draco nodded, still pink-cheeked.

“I hope I don’t get yanked away into another world again that way—it’s disorientating….”

“It’s only happened once to me,” said Draco.

“But the being, um, friends with you… I wonder if we might give that a chance here? Just take it slow, go for a walk or have lunch sometimes?”

Draco nodded. “Or go flying?”

“Yeah!” Harry let out a sigh of relief. Talking about this was hard, but flying was, well, easy as flying. 

Light was already fading from the sky; winter afternoons were short. Coloured lights twinkled in the distance. “Look, there’s a Christmas Market!” Harry said. Suddenly he was hungry. “Want to get something to eat? I’ve got some Muggle money on me.”

So they strolled from stall to stall, drinking mulled wine and eating gingerbread, listening to carols, as one by one the stars came out above.

❄ ❄ ❄ 

A lunch date, a flying date, another flying date, a dinner date, and by the time the welcome-back party for Luna and Millicent came around, Harry and Draco went to it together.

“We found it!” Luna reported happily. “But not until our last day. We were almost out of food but Millicent had cleverly packed a couple of little mince pies.”

“Christmas coming, you know,” Millicent said.

“We think it was the smell of the mince pies that finally attracted the Blibbering Humdinger.”

“What did it look like?” Dean asked.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly see it—they can become invisible at will, apparently. But we heard the humming and dinging. We left a few bites of pie for it.”

“Did you try to catch it?” Ron asked. 

“Oh no! It seemed quite shy and I didn’t want to scare it. They’re said to be quite solitary when they aren’t raising a family.” Luna frowned. “I’m not sure how it would find a mate—their habitat is shrinking, and another Humdinger might be far away and difficult to locate.”

“It would be sad if there were no baby Humdingers,” said Cho, sitting on the floor with her head resting against Pansy’s leg. 

Luna nodded gravely. “It would be a diminished world.”

❄ ❄ ❄ 

It was nearly Christmas, and Draco had been invited to Sunday dinner at the Burrow with Harry. He sat quietly, bemused by the family bustle, and tolerated Victoire draping tinsel in his hair.

Mrs Weasley was interested in the story of the Blibbering Humdinger. “The poor thing, all alone!” she exclaimed.

“Not everyone wants to be paired up, you know, Mum,” Ginny said.

“Well, but everyone should have a chance. Sometimes a body needs a little help. Maybe I can knit up a little something….” She reached for her knitting basket and copy of _Sit & Knit a Spell: The Magic of Mittens from Round the World_. 

“Are you going to make a Christmas present to make it feel better, Mum? Who’s going to deliver it, then?” Ron grinned.

“Oh, Harry and Draco should do it, I think,” she said smiling. “If you’re willing?”

“Sure,” Harry said, happy for the gentle teasing that signaled acceptance.

Except, he discovered the next day, she hadn’t been joking. Draco was with him when the owl arrived with a package and note. 

Harry looked up from the package to Draco in disbelief. “She’s sent a knitted gift and mince pie for the Humdinger, and a round-trip Portkey for us. Oh, and a bell so we can ding for it.” 

“I suppose we can manage the humming on our own,” Draco said. “Is there only the one mince pie?”

“Do you really want to do this?”

Draco shrugged. “Why not? See the world, preserve the Humdingers.”

Harry laughed. “All right, I’m game. And if it makes Molly happy….”

“…We may be able to wangle more mince pies out of it,” Draco finished, getting his cloak, scarf and mittens. 

Harry shrugged his own cloak on and slung a scarf around his neck. “Come on, you,” he said, handing Draco the package to hold and wrapping an arm around his waist. They both gripped the Portkey and activated it.

They landed on a mountainside, somewhere snowy and moonlit and quiet. The air smelled like cedar. Stars twinkled in the frosty air.

“I forgot it might be nighttime here,” Harry said in a hushed voice. He pulled on his mittens against the cold.

Draco set the mince pie out on the snow and rang the bell softly. “Hum,” he whispered.

Harry found himself humming _Silent Night_. Scraps of words floated through his mind.

_All is calm, all is bright…_

Draco joined in, humming the lovely melody with him. Harry took his hand.

_Love’s pure light…_

In the stillness after they finished, Draco rang the bell again.

“Oh, we’re forgetting the other present,” Harry said. He pulled a soft yellow mitten out of the wrapping. “Wait, there’s only one?”

“Who knows how many mittens a Humdinger needs, if no one’s ever seen one?”

“Her note said she used the same charm she’d been using on my mittens. What’s the point of using a charm to keep a pair of mittens together if you only make one mitten?”

“Charm?” Draco looked at Harry. “What’s the name of this charm?”

“The Find Your Partner Charm, or maybe it was Find Your Mate.”

Draco gazed at him, laughed softly, took Harry’s hand and squeezed. “I’d say Mrs Weasley knew what she was doing.” 

Harry looked at their linked, mittened hands. His mouth fell open. “Do you really think…”

“Look, something else fell out of the wrappings.” Draco bent and picked a sprig of leaves and berries off the snow. It was mistletoe. He held it over Harry’s head. “My chance to kiss my boyfriend on another continent.” 

Harry laughed and they kissed, deep and sweet.

“My turn,” Harry said, taking the mistletoe and holding it over Draco’s head. He wrapped his other arm around Draco’s waist and kissed him again.

“My toes are stinging,” Draco said. “Let’s go home and kiss there. For comparison.”

“Mmm, yes, very important. For research,” Harry said.

“Exactly.” 

Harry readied the Portkey to reactivate.

“One last carol for the Humdinger.” Draco rang the bell and with their arms wrapped around each other, they hummed “Joy to the World.” 

_And Heav’n and Nature sing…_

The Portkey took them home. 

The Humdinger saw them vanish. She seldom had company, and most of the time she was happy that way. But lately she’d had a longing for babies, to raise a family, spend a sweet year with young ones until they were ready to be on their own. But it was puzzling to know where to find another Humdinger to parent with, and no other Humdinger had found her for a long time. Just these wizards.

Drawn by the irresistible aroma of mince pie, she came closer. A whole pie all for her! Nibbling delicately, she spied something yellow and fluffy nearby. She pawed it and it slid partway onto her foot.

She was lying in a warm cave, nursing a litter of babies. They hummed and dinged in the cutest way with their baby voices. She gazed at them fondly, and then at her loving mate nearby. 

She nudged her babies aside and got up. From the mouth of the cave she could see sunlit mountains. She stepped outside and looked around carefully until she saw the mountainside she had come from, in the distance. She recognised other landmarks. 

Back inside the cave, she breathed in her mate’s scent so that she would know it again. They had a melodic conversation and she let the tones of that voice reverberate in her heart. She bent down to nuzzle a baby….

And she was alone on her mountainside again. The sun was rising. She looked around, and saw in the distance the landmarks she’d found from the cave where her future lay. 

Her dings rang out, clear and sweet in the mountain air. Humming a lullaby, she blibbered hopefully in the promised direction.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥
> 
> This work is part of HD Erised, an on-going anonymous fest. The creator will be revealed January 7th.


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